Amity and Enmity
by LuckyRatTail
Summary: The 19th century, a few suspicious characters, a rebel with a cause, and everyone's favourite djinni caught in the middle of it all. Plus intrigue, drama, angst, betrayal, and mild confusion. Note: abandoned yet unfinished.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: This fic will be split up and mixed up (ala Pulp Fiction), and sometimes certain occurrences will be re-written from a different perspective. Rather than to confuse the reader, this is simply to give a broader understanding of the story.

I found this chapter very difficult to write, as whenever Bartimaeus is angry the story is being told from another perspective. Therefore, constructive criticism would be thoroughly appreciated.

Also, I know that this is pathetically short but it is just supposed to give an introduction to the story, the next chapters will be longer.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bartimaeus, he belongs to the legendary Jonathan Stroud.

Prologue

I couldn't look at her; couldn't bare to see what colour that light of hers had turned. I already knew that she was lying, I didn't need to see any proof.

She whispered my name somewhere at the back of the room, so quietly I was the only one who could hear. "…please, at least say something!"

"Get out." Harsh, cruel, and deserved. I stole a glance at the floor behind me. Her feet were shuffling in what I can only assume was restlessness. I couldn't understand why she still hadn't left the room.

She was saying something again, murmuring, pointless. I heard her take a step closer to me. Her feet were still shuffling, as though all she wanted to do was run away. I wished she would.

This was too painful for Ptolemy's form - within seconds I was the gargoyle, talon-like claws scraping at the window ledge, stone eyes casting a thoughtless stare over the mist-covered gardens outside. The change was drawing on the last of my energy; I'd already been in this wretched place for too long and I didn't need this to make it worse.

Another step. From somewhere in the grounds came the sound of hooves on gravel. "That'll be your carriage, _dear_."

She exhaled an ironic laugh. "Fine…" she whispered, then, "I'm going. That's it - gone." She was speaking with the kind of confidence that expects a reaction. I wasn't going to give her one. "I'm not coming back!"

Good.

I still couldn't look at her. My mind seemed to battling against itself - I wanted to say something terrible, the kind of words that would make her scream, but a shrinking part of me was holding me back. I ignored it.

The venom was already bubbling in my granite throat. "Enjoy your new husband."

I was right, it did make her scream. Almost. She was certainly yelling enough to induce some kind of bitter amusement on my part. I could practically see the tears of injustice burning in the corners of her eyes, her twisted countenance of mingled disbelief and disappointment. Her poor little scheme gone to ruin.

A sort of reckless abandon took hold of me - I didn't care how she felt anymore and I'd had enough of being tangled up in human affairs. I wanted her out of here, now, and I didn't care what she thought of me when she left.

"…Don't you dare give me that, Bartimaeus!" she was shouting at me, her voice hoarse with false lament. The nerve of it, after all those lies she'd heard herself say I don't know how she could accuse me of offending her. "You - you -"

I knew the perfect word, and I had her to thank for it. "- creature?"

That shut her up.


	2. The Study

The Study

_27th January 1891_

Josef Blight let a slithering tongue click at the back of his throat in impatience, pale, skeletal fingers rubbing absent-mindedly along a pointed nose. The bitter-sweet green of his eyes narrowed under slender black brows as he stared at the chalk lines on the floor before him. He had called three times now - still no demon.

The greying night sky outside his latticed window rumbled under the weight of the storm. Blight took in a deep breath and tried to hear his thoughts over the lashing of the rain on his side of the house, the stone walls still raggedly fighting it out against the raging wrath of the weather. The three summonings had almost totally drained him, but he squared his shoulders in determination and blinked the fatigue from his eyes. The girl wasn't so dangerous that the stupid demon might have been destroyed… unless he'd been _so_ stupid as to reveal his true intent, in which the girl wouldn't have been totally unable to defend herself…

He shifted a foot encased in a patent leather boot, about to step out of the neat white symbols intertwined with the outline of his own pentacle, when a smudge in the air before him began to form. And grew wider. Blight's eyebrows met in a severe line under his high forehead, mimicking the shape of his emotionless mouth, as a small white cloud bubbled into being where the djinni should have appeared five minutes ago. As the magician continued to watch, the haze contorted itself into the shape of a dark-skinned boy, who stood within the limits of the pentacle, black eyes flushed with irritation, and placed his hands on his hips in a thoroughly irked fashion.

"What?"

A sly amusement crept over Blight's thin features. "I'm sorry," he said in a drawling voice. "Was I interrupting something..?"

The djinni seemed to shake itself slightly, as though ridding the boy's face of any kind of give-away. It stretched its expression into one of utterly false contentment. "No," it said slowly, rather deliberately. "As usual, oh master, your timing is _exquisite_…"

Blight gave a wan smile, while his eyes brimmed with sadistic glee at seeing his servant so inconvenienced. "Good," he said quietly. Then, "I called you three times, Bartimaeus, it took you an awfully long time to arrive." He smiled in mock concern. "Far away, were you?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "You know perfectly well where I was. What do you want?"

Another violent bout of rain slammed against the windows. The magician raised an eyebrow. "Merely a report on how you've been getting along," he said. "Have you managed to -"

"No," the djinni cut him off in a bored voice. "And I don't see why it should be my job to do it! It's not like her house is surrounded by marids or something… Typical magician - why can't you just do it yourself!"

A flicker of annoyance smarted the magician's composed features. "Don't interrupt me, demon," he uttered darkly. "I have told you before - this must all be done carefully."

"Yeah, yeah…" the boy cocked his head to one side and let out a feigned sigh, though for a moment Blight thought he saw something like anxiety in the fathomless eyes. It was gone in an instant as the djinni looked up and stared around at the papers strewn about the wooden floor, the two desks invisible under cascades of leather-bound tomes. "What happened in here?" the boy grinned. "Stampede?"

"Do you mean to tell me," Blight snapped, determinedly ignoring the djinni's attempt to change the subject. "That you have not uncovered a single thing worthy of my attention?"

The boy in the pentacle shrugged. "Erm… well, she says she hasn't got enough money to support herself just from teaching." He threw a meaningful look at the magician. "So she's had to try out some lowlife garbage working for commoners or something… you know, she's not at all the way you described her. Very unusual girl…"

A thought struck Blight, but he put it aside for the moment. "What was she doing when you left her?"

The djinni seemed to pause for only a fraction of a second before saying, a little too quickly, "Er - looking for a candle."

"Looking for a candle…" the magician repeated deliberately. He rubbed a finger along his lower lip. "Why?"

The boy's voice was much more casual this time. "The power went out because of the storm, of course." As though to exaggerate his point, the wind seemed to howl a little louder. "In a house like hers, what do you expect?"

Blight said nothing. If what the djinni reported was correct, she was, at this very moment, trapped in a dark house, all alone. The thought sent an uncomfortable shiver across the back of his neck.

"Why doesn't she live here, anyway?"

Annoyance formed a crease across the magician's forehead. "I'm asking the questions, demon."

"Fair enough. Can I go now?"

Blight stared at his feet, deep in thought. "Yes, you are dismissed. You are to remain in Miss Holloway's house in a disguise which she will not be able to detect, until you receive further instruction from myself. Is that clear?"

The boy let out something like a groan, but had vanished within seconds. Blight stepped carefully out of his pentacle, listening to the storm carry on valiantly outside. He crossed to his desk and sat down in the ruined leather of the chair. Fishing in his waistcoat pocket, he drew out a selection of keys on a piece of black cord and fitted one into a lock on one of the desk drawers. The drawer clicked open, and he reached inside. A collection of faded miniatures, various certificates and several important-looking documents were heaped unceremoniously into the depths of the wooden box, from which Blight tugged out a short, neatly-written letter and straightened it in his hands.

_To whom it may concern,_

_Suffice to say that I no longer feel I can live as a resident in this household, owing to the unwanted attentions of one of your senior ministers. I do not wish to make accusations, and consequently the man in question shall remain unnamed. However, his actions have led me to the conclusion that my life would be better led away from the House of St. Mar. _

_yours faithfully,_

_Miss Catherine Holloway_


	3. The Classroom

**Thank you very much to those who reviewed. Your comments were greatly appreciated.**

The Classroom

_18th January, 1891_

The girl sighed and swept another piece of hair behind her ear, eyes straining to read the symbols smudged and uneven on the pages before her. The book was held loosely in her right hand, balanced in her lap, dust falling from its ancient leaves onto the crimson wool of her dress. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the ginger cat flicking its tail impatiently on the windowsill. She bit her lip, and continued.

"…The power of the Polish state fell into the hands of the Czartoryskis, one of the major noble families, while the pleasure-loving and lazy Augustus spent most of his reign in Saxony…" She turned the page, already sure that the boy had stopped listening. He was scratching some obscene doodle onto the corner of his parchment, unkempt, dirty-brown hair almost touching the desk as his head bent lower in boredom.

Something like frustration flashed in her eyes. "Joe, stop that," she hissed. "I won't read this again." The boy looked up, as though surprised to realise where he was, and threw her the kind of look that clearly told her he did not appreciate the reminder. He shifted his position to sit up a little straighter, gripped the quill in his hand, and poised it above the paper to continue writing.

The ticking of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece seemed to grow louder. "…They were opposed by the Potockis, another noble family, who took the side of the French in wanting Stanislas back on the throne. However, neither family was strong enough to overpower the other, and only through loopholes in the system were they able to make their voices heard."

"That sounds familiar…" a voice mused, silhouetted in the glaring light from the garden. The girl looked towards the window, and the cat that was not really a cat flicked his tail and stretched lazily across the dusty cushion of the window seat. "Oh, please go on," he drawled. "It's _fascinating_."

The boy smirked, then raised his head and stared behind him at the window. His podgy little nose was upturned, a sneer spread across his round face. "You be quiet, stupid demon!" he cackled. "This is _my_ lesson!"

"Joe!" the girl snapped. "If you're not careful this lesson of yours will last until midnight. Pay attention." She stared back at the book, avoiding the gaze of the djinni, who was now watching her with a mildly interested expression. She continued talking, though this time her voice was slightly hurried, "Poland's helplessness was evident in the Seven Years War, when their magicians -"

The grandfather clock in the hall began chiming loudly, and before Cathy could say a word, the boy had shoved his books into his satchel and was stood up. He bent his head slightly, glaring at her from cold, grey eyes. "I will see you at the same time tomorrow, Miss Holloway," he uttered in a tone of forced politeness. "Come on, demon, you're supposed to accompany me home!" He snapped his fingers, a sound which was somewhat softened by the thick stubbiness of his hands.

The cat leapt from the windowsill, and in the moment Cathy averted her eyes, became the small, dark-skinned boy. He paused for just a moment, as though considering something, but instead threw a quick glance at the girl, which she did not return. Hearing yet another barking order from his master's son, he followed the young apprentice out of the room with nothing but repugnance shining in those unearthly eyes.


	4. The Kitchen

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** Please, please please review! (I'm inclined to beg...) Any suggestions for further chapters?  
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The Kitchen

_26th January, 1891_

"There was a scandal at the bookmakers; some of their commoner staff had been suspected of doctoring the wording in certain magician's books, though it was never proven. There was one piece of rather remarkable indication, however… though, unfortunately the evidence was destroyed as a consequence of the occurrence. I never knew the man - important politician or something - but it seems a little cruel to have butchered his life in such a way.

"I know, probably more than anyone else, that djinn - well, spirits of any kind - more than anything desire simply to exist elsewhere; that when they are summoned all they want to is to return home. The normal ones, anyhow… If an incantation goes wrong, they will destroy their summoner to allow them to depart to the Other Place. I've heard many magicians tell me that spirits will hurt you if given the opportunity, but I always believed that that was the only reason why. I never suspected that they might derive some kind of pleasure from it -"

"And they don't, it's a common misconception!" I couldn't seem to stress this point enough. "We don't care about humans - in general, I mean - we just want to go home, like you said."

"I know, I know." She was twisting her hands together, something I'm sure any magician would have described as a sign of weakness. "But… this occurrence, this man's summoning went so terribly wrong and, I would have expected, had I been old enough to suspect such things, that the spirits he called up would simply have killed him and left. But they seemed to have other ideas.

"Two afrits and a djinni - God knows what he was planning to use them for. Sheer amusement, perhaps, but no-one had any idea. Anyway, as I said, something went wrong. But, they didn't kill him and leave, oh no, they knocked him unconscious."

I blinked at her, the cat's eyes narrowed. "Unconscious? What would be the point in that?"

"They tied him up in his study - simply left him there! And then…" She wasn't looking at me anymore, but staring straight at the worn wood of the tabletop, slowly tracing invisible circles with a pale forefinger. When she spoke it was with a kind of subtle hysteria that unnerved me a little. "They seemed to think it their duty to avenge all the spirits who had ever been summoned and put to work. So they went rampaging through the streets of London, killing everyone in sight - magician or commoner - and laughing… Then they reached our house.

"I was only just eight years old. I was upstairs in the school room of our town house, my master and her friends were downstairs in the drawing room, drinking tea and gossiping, or something. I remember I could hear shouts coming from the other end of the street, but my tutor told me just to ignore them. That he thought Gladstone might be giving a speech at some conference or other nearby, and that the carriages were likely to drive past out area of town." She stared up at me now, a disquieting gleam in her eyes. "But they weren't those kinds of shouts, Bartimaeus, they were frightened - terrified! - and as I listened they drew closer. And something else - a kind of howling, rumbling sound. I've never been near an earthquake, but I can imagine that that is how it would sound… I was utterly petrified.

"I couldn't move, couldn't say a word. My tutor moved me to the attic, the highest in the house that we could go. I could tell that he was trying to remain calm. But when you're a child you don't imagine that things could go as horribly wrong as they did. He left me there, locked the door and went downstairs to join my master. That was the last I saw of him."

There she simply stopped; didn't trail off in an apathetic way, just seemed to have said all that she wanted to. She wasn't looking at me anymore, but staring at the tabletop again, as still and quiet as though she had been carved out of the same dark wood as crafted the chair. I, uncharacteristically, did not fill the silence.

I noticed that the light outside the windows was gradually folding itself into the purple twilight, and a rather unwelcome image of that horrid boy bursting into the room swam before the cat's eyes.

I had to break the quiet somehow. I hesitated, for the first time not knowing quite what to say. "Is that why…" it was a stupid and badly-timed question, but one that might round off the conversation easily enough for me to slip away. "…why you'll never summon…"

"Yes," thankfully she finished the statement without me having to get all the words out. What was wrong with me? It must be the thought of spending another hour in the coach with dear Joseph Blight Jr…

I was just about to leap from the table, conscious that she had not raised her head for the past twenty minutes, when another thought struck me. "Is that also why you left the House?"

Now she looked at me, eyes shadowed by a furrowed brow. "What do you mean?"

Uh oh. "Erm… I was investigating something, I read in someone's office that you - you used to work there." Why was she staring at me with such accusation in her eyes? Perhaps I was delving too deep for one afternoon…

She blinked several times, and seem to come out of a reverie. "Yes," she said quickly. "Yes, it is. I couldn't stand being around them, you know… I mean -!"

"Well, if that's what you really think!" I said in a tone of mock offence. "I'll be off, then."

She clapped her hands to her face. "Oh, I didn't mean that… I just meant the really powerful ones."

"Does the phrase 'digging yourself in deeper' mean anything to you?"

"No! - I mean - oh, I don't know…" her eyes were screwed up, and she was laughing in a quiet undertone. She took a deep breath. "I would rather spend an afternoon with someone like you, Bartimaeus, than spend it with a little - well - _child_ like Master Blight. If you understand me…"

Now it was my turn to laugh. She couldn't have put it better, in my opinion.


	5. The Storeroom

**Thank you to Angst Equinox for reviewing; I only wish there were more of you… **

Author's Note: I realise that so far, not a lot has happened in this story as it has been mostly character build-up, so I've attempted to pick up the pace in this chapter… let me know what you think.

The Storeroom

_15th December, 1887_

She felt something crack as she slammed against the towering shelves, books tumbling left and right and a bottle of some vile liquid smashing to the floor. Crying out more in alarm than in pain, she clutched at her throbbing head and sank to the grimy floor, staring up into the darkness.

The door threw a chunk of pallid light onto the storeroom floor, etched in its centre was the silhouette of a tall, slender man with one hand outstretched. A jabbering imp danced on his shoulder.

"Pick her up please, Rattle," a sallow voice whispered, and the imp leapt to crouch inches from the cowering girl's feet.

"Don't touch me!" she spat, wriggling backwards into the wall. Eyes glued shut, she jolted against the bookcase and several books clattered down around her, barely missing her head. She shrieked, throwing her hands in front of her face, instigating raucous laughter from the imp and a wry smile from her boss.

Blight took a step forward, his smirking features totally hidden by the darkness of the tiny room. "Oh, and I did hope you were going to co-operate," he said softly, breathing a sigh mildewed with the scarcity of real disappointment. "Although I must admit…" he pulled a speck of dust from his otherwise immaculate suit and flicked it over his shoulder. "…this is a lot more fun."

"You monster!" the girl cried, lashing out feebly. She kicked a foot at the cackling imp, who was now doing cartwheels along the tiled floor. The sight made her feel faintly sick.

"Do not address my servant in such a way, please," Blight snapped.

The girl scowled, "I wasn't speaking to him."

Rattle stretched his scabby red face into a toothy grin and grabbed hold of her foot, swinging gleefully from it as the girl let out another yelp. Josef Blight clicked two slender fingers together and the imp desisted, returning to his master's shoulder in one bound. A definite crease was forming across the magician's high forehead as his flashing eyes narrowed.

"Please don't make this any more difficult than it already is," he said quietly, the tiniest hint of pleading squirming through his words. "Where is the book, Cathy?"

A muscle twitched in the girl's face. "Do not call me _Cathy_!" she screamed. "And I do not have your book!"

Blight waved a hand as though batting something away. "Oh really, my dear, I think we're past such insignificant trifles as _lies_, aren't we?"

"Speak for yourself."

The magician let out a low chuckle. "I shall," he said. "You know, as well as I, that the very ancient and valuable book that I surrendered to your possession is still hidden somewhere in your house. And I would like it back."

Catherine winced as though she had been stung. "I do not have your book," she murmured, but now with less confidence.

For a moment Blight said nothing, his face one of stony static. Slowly, he took another few steps forward, his patent boots crunching on the shards of broken glass sprinkled over the floor. He crouched down, making sure that no part of his precious suit touched the tiles, his face merely a foot from the girl's glowering countenance. When he spoke it was in a tone that had lost any of its previous malice. It was gentle, almost friendly, but his words frightened Catherine beyond any that he had ever said to her before.

"We were in this together, Cathy," he whispered. "It doesn't matter what you do now; when the ministry find out about this, it'll be both our heads." He forced his lips into a smile, though his eyes were poisonously cold. "I need your help, Cathy. So that I can get us both out of this mess."

The girl seemed to recoil slightly, though her gaze never flinched. "None of this was my doing," she hissed. "You promised me that if I helped you, you would get me out of here. You said that no-one would get hurt -"

"Why do you care!" he cried, every trace of his false smile wiped from his pale face in an instant. He stood up, turning his back on her and glaring into the steadily fading light of the corridor outside.

_Please,_ thought Catherine. _Please, let someone walk past. Let someone find me…_

He was still raging at her, his voice shaky as though he was trying to stifle his anger. "You have no power, no status - nothing! You can't summon a thing and you refuse to learn! _Why_, Cathy? Why do you _still defy me!_"

In the instant that he turned round to bellow his demand at her, Catherine grabbed one of the pieces of broken glass on the floor and hurled it at him. He let out a gasp of pain and clutched at his cheek, dark crimson already spilling through his spider-like hands as his imp burst into fits of hysteria. "You little viper!" he screamed. "Is death really what you long for, Catherine Holloway? Because it is what you are on your way to meeting!"

He removed one of his bloodied hands to grab hold of the imp, revealing the glint of coloured glass embedded in a face that was now ashen with rage. In one movement he hurled the imp behind him and staggered forward, kneeling on the filthy floor, no longer caring about the condition of his clothing. To her horror, Catherine looked up into the face of a man whose eyes were not narrowed in loathing, nor shadowed with fallacious perfection. In contrast, they looked fearful.

A streak of scarlet was slowly dripping from the magician's pointed chin, his words wet with the dark liquid. "I offered you the world, Cathy… my love… and this is how you repay me? You steal the one thing that I needed, and hide it from me?"

"You never loved me," she said, struggling to keep her voice even. "You said yourself, the only thing you cared about was your idea… power and money. I was simply _necessary_." She was determinedly maintaining her stare, though his pitiful expression was becoming arduous to endure.

"Oh, Cathy," he sighed, pushing himself to his feet. One hand was still pressed against the left side of his face. "I'm so sorry."

He clicked his fingers again, this time muttering something that sounded like a name. In an instant there was a flash of light behind him, and a grunting, bulky manifestation lumbered into the tiny storeroom.

The girl's view was now almost totally obscured. The spirit that Blight had summoned was blocking all of the light from the corridor, its powerful aura pounding through the air of the tiny room. In the darkness she felt herself be lifted from the debris-scattered floor.

"I didn't want to have to do this, my dear," Blight stated, all of his previous sincerity vanished, a tone of bored authority underlining his excuses. "Take her to my office and lock her in." The creature took two steps to the door of the storeroom, the vibrations sending every item still clinging to the shelves now crashing to the floor. The wan lamp light of the corridor was almost unbearable after the darkness of the storeroom; Catherine screwed up her eyes and tried not to think about what was now carrying her through the hallways of the House.

Somewhere behind the beast she heard the magician call out, and felt a jolt of hatred rise inside her that was so intense she was, for a moment, terrified that it would consume her. "And if, at any point, she tries to leave," he barked. "You will let me know."

**Okay, you've got this far - please, PLEASE, let me know what made you keep reading!**


	6. The Summoning Hall

**Thank you to those who reviewed. **_I'm going to try and speed up a little!_

Author's Note: I'm actually studying this period of history at school - this is what comes of writing fan fiction when you're supposed to be doing homework…

The Summoning Hall

_10th January, 1891_

Same old, same old. I had barely settled back home when I was snatched so violently from the Other Place and thrown into that downward spiral that is a summoning. Oh well, what would it be this time?

I could instantly tell that we were still in the nineteenth century - everything had that post-Enlightenment feel, the stains of battling the Romanticists still visible on every carefully drawn out map of the world, every copy of Diderot's _Encylopédie_, every piece of memorabilia from the opening ceremony of Gladstone's Empire.

But this guy was no solider. Old, high forehead, pale with tiredness, dark hair streaked with grey; he looked more like a librarian than a raging creature of conflict. Typical magician. The silk waistcoat, a remnant of the Paisley-pattern madness of before the 1870s, the matching cravat, the shirt collar so stiff it could cut glass. Plus, he absolutely stank of incense.

Time for an impressive entrance - oh, who was I kidding? What seemed like five minutes ago I had been charging into battle, on the precipice of death and, frankly, ready for it. If this summoning was to send me back into the wars, they could forget it.

I settled for a cloud of sulphur and a few gong crashes, the thickness dissolving to reveal a small Egyptian boy standing within the confines of the pentacle.

I couldn't be bothered with big introductions. I simply placed my hands on my hips, leant my little dark head to one side and glared at him.

"How quaint," he said, smirking. He blinked slowly and place his hands together, thin white fingers forming a neat steeple. "Bartimaeus of Uruk, I charge you -"

"Oh, now, hang on," it was worth the inevitable suffering for interrupting him just to see that smarmy grin vanish so rapidly. "You know my name, but I don't know yours. What kind of an introduction is that?" Perhaps he'd decide that I was too difficult to work with and he'd let me go.

To my extreme disappointment, his smirk returned. "Well," he leered, "I'd heard you might be difficult to work with, Bartimaeus, but I'd expected hallucinations, violence, cunning or even unwanted wit… not simple back-chat."

Ouch.

"Alright, long-nose, what do you want?" I tapped my bare foot on the chalk lines. "And what do you mean, _heard_? Heard from who? Hang on - what time is it? Why is it so dark in here? It must be the middle of the night, why aren't you in bed?"

He snapped his fingers, rather rudely, I thought. "Will you shut up," he hissed.

No, I was going to draw this out as long as possible. "Ahh, summoning me at night, eh? Secret mission, I suppose, and you don't want anyone else to know about it."

"How very perceptive of you," he muttered.

"Let's see," I carried on before he could interrupt me again. "You need an escort to a ball, and you want me to go and kidnap a girl for you? Or you want me to put actual metal into your collar so that it'll be the most ridiculously stiff in the room? How about, you're supposed to be on a diet, but you could really do with some -"

"Enough!" Ooh, I seem to have touched a nerve. He was now using the official 'charging' voice that all magicians selected once they'd got to know me a bit. "I charge you to retrieve an item of particular value for me from the house of another magician."

"Ahh, _burglary_." Wasn't the first time - definitely wouldn't be the last.

He ploughed on. "There is a book, unnamed, with a wooden cover bound in black leather, and gold clasps holding it shut."

"Sounds like the most _original_ book I've _ever_ heard of…"

A nasty grin flickered at the corner of his mouth. "Sarcasm - how charming." I gave him the kind of look that would freeze Hell itself. Sadly, that didn't stop him from continuing. "This book, contrary to your opinion, is the only one of its kind in the world. It has been passed down through my family for generations, and someone has stolen it from me."

I gave a hugely fake sigh. "How tragic. And how many people did you say had to die to make it in the first place?"

He ignored me. "This book was composed by the monks of St. Benedict in the 9th century AD, it contains a series of complex incantations and summoning spells that, if in the wrong hands, will cause chaos."

I noticed his use of the would 'will', rather than 'could'. "And you're worried that the person who nicked it'll use them against you, are you?"

"They are not those kinds of incantations," he said. "Besides, the person who stole the book does not have the capacity to use it. I merely want it back owing to its - ah - sentimental value."

There was a dark smudge to the slimy green of his aura. Something he had just told me was a lie; not that that last sentence wasn't a total give-away…

"Alright. Who's got it? And there better not be a lot of effort involved in retrieving this thing, because I don't know if you're aware, pal, but -"

"Quite the opposite," he was waving away my words with one bony hand. He really was starting to put me in mind of some kind of starved snake. "The woman's name is Catherine Holloway, she was a former employee of the House of St. Mar - yes, that is where you are now -"

"I can work that out for myself, thank you."

"- She is strange, conniving and potentially mad, but she has no experience whatsoever of magical teaching, despite being brought up as a magician."

"That makes no sense." I could tell he was getting annoyed again at my constant interruptions, but those flickers in his aura were becoming more and more frequent. If this was some kind of fake mission just to satisfy his own sadistic enjoyment at seeing spirits destroyed (and so far he definitely seemed the type to do so), I wanted to know in advance.

He took in a deep breath. "For some reason, at a very young age, Miss Holloway ceased her own magical tuition. Since then she has learned nothing more concerning summoning or controlling demons. Therefore, her house is not guarded in any way by anything magical."

"So… why can't you just waltz in and get it yourself?" This charge was sounding more and more bizarre by the minute.

"I am not an idiot, demon, -" _could've fooled me_ "- of course I, and the many spirits I have summoned, have attempted to find the book in Miss Holloway's house. But so far we have had no luck. She has, somehow, hidden it from our ability to find."

I gave a disingenuous tut, "Typical."

"Quiet." He threw a glance over his shoulder, eyes shifting all over the summoning hall. When he turned back to me, his tone had resumed the finality of an official charge. "Miss Holloway has taken to teaching history to young magicians. You will escort my apprentice to her classes every day, during which time you will manage to evade her attention for long enough to explore her house. Search every room, every drawer, every loose floorboard in the entire building until you find my book."

I tried to look awe-struck at the order, but failed. "Has it ever occurred to you, that perhaps she hasn't hidden the book - if she has it at all - in her house? I mean, if you've looked so many times -"

He held up his hand again. This usually wouldn't stop me, but I could hear footsteps moving outside the summoning hall, and I, like him, was interested in who it was. There was a moment's silence, then the footsteps died away.

His voice was a little quieter this time. "You will make yourself hidden in this building, or around it, until dawn tomorrow morning when I will summon you again." I gave something like a nod. "Now, go."

I began to disintegrate, wisps of smoke floating off into the darkness of the hall. I admit, I wasn't particularly looking forward to the charge, well, less so than usual; it all seemed a bit fishy to me.


	7. The Track

**Thanks very much to those who reviewed.**

Author's Note: I owe the inspiration for this chapter to Cried Nevermore - thanks again.

This is supposed to be what was said between Nathaniel and Bartimaeus on their walk from the train station to the village in _The Amulet of Samarkand_. As a result, the date here is a random guess at when the book was supposed to be set.

**Another Note:** I've posted a Bartimaeus trilogy forum, but there isn't a section for that yet. If anybody wants to add anything to it, it's situated in the Miscellaneous Books section.

The Track

_21 November, 1998  
_

The boy stared at his surroundings with glazed eyes; suddenly, it all seemed so real to him. This open space represented how far he had stepped out of the boundaries of what he knew. This young magician was about to venture not only into unknown territory, but an unknown world.

The djinni didn't seem to care less. He was strolling along at a rather leisurely pace, his guise of a young boy seeming to fit perfectly with the natural surroundings. Of course - spirits liked baseness, reverting back to nature, they despised the buildings and man-made creations that Nathaniel found so comforting.

The boy folded his arms tightly, the cold seeping through his thin clothes. He breathed out a silvery mist into the air before him and sniffed. "Will we get some food there?"

"You humans," the djinni muttered. "If your mind's not pondering world domination, it's on your stomach… Yes, we'll get some food."

The boy nodded, staring down at his shoes as they walked. The dirt of the track was glistening with frost, tiny sparkling flecks that dazzled Nathaniel's exhausted eyes. He blinked and looked up, deciding to concentrate on the trees still half a mile ahead of them. The open space more than unnerved him, he would have given anything for at least a low wall between the track and the vast expanse of grassy field stretching into the horizon on either side of them.

"I hope you've thought again about what you're getting us into," the djinni broke into Nathaniel's train of thought.

The boy blinked at him. "What? Oh… what do you mean? I _have_ to do this - I've got no choice."

The djinni snorted, glaring at the steadily nearing gate that led into the village. "Of course you've got a choice. You could run away and save us both. Times change, people evolve - you should just let it take its course. If the government isn't prepared to battle whatever Lovelace's going to throw at them, then perhaps they're not the right people in power anyway. I've seen it happen too many times… your government is going to be overthrown eventually, it may as well happen now."

Nathaniel sniffed again, and rubbed at his freezing shoulders. "It's not right," he stated. "It shouldn't happen."

"I'm afraid 'shouldn't' has got nothing to do with it," the djinni sighed. "Besides, sometimes it's for the better. Look at Napoleon, look at Charles I."

"That's a matter of opinion," Nathaniel muttered.

"Oh silly me, I forgot," the djinni drawled. "The idea of just one man ruling the country would be absolute paradise to you magicians, wouldn't it? No wonder all Hell broke loose once you'd got rid of him. You got all psyched up about the idea of democracy, then realised that would mean giving power to the Commoners as well and panicked."

Nathaniel frowned. "Hey, I wasn't even there!"

"I'm just saying…" the djinni continued. "Things never change. They just repeat themselves. Take this Lovelace character for a start - he may be the first slime-ball to tick you off, but I assure you, he won't be the last."

"He's trying to take over the country!" the boy cried. "This isn't a _personal_ thing, you know. I'm not just doing it because of what he did to me -"

"Ooh - your first big lie! How does it feel?"

"Shut up." He stared down at the floor again to avoid the djinni's smirking face. _How dare he… what does he know?_ "Why do you care, anyway?" Nathaniel said childishly. "It's not like you live here. All I've asked you to do is protect me."

"I _don't_ care," the djinni said casually. "I'll let things play out as they will. And as for protecting you, pal, all I can say is I'll do my best."

"Yeah, right," Nathaniel snorted. "You'll protect me if you want your freedom. If I die, you're straight in the tin."

The djinni scuffed a foot along the track. "A fact I have unfortunately not forgotten." He paused, then carried on in a rather pensive tone. "I'm merely pointing out that sometimes you can do all you want to make something happen, like protect someone, or stop somebody overthrowing the British government, and it just doesn't work. It all blows up in your face. That's life, I'm afraid…"

The Egyptian boy had a strange look on his face, and Nathaniel had the sudden suspicion that perhaps the djinni wasn't talking about Lovelace anymore. He dared not ask about it, though; Bartimaeus seemed to be in a bizarre enough mood as it was, and the last thing he needed was an estranged djinni when it came to surviving on his own.

He looked up again, and saw that they had almost reached the gate. He began to walk a little faster; the peculiar ramblings of the djinni had distracted him somewhat from the space around him, but now he felt as though every inch of field was growing wider and wider, the silence of the countryside almost deafening. He rushed at the gate and threw it open, delighted to hear the creaking of the rusty hinges - something man-made.

The djinni sighed and followed him past the wooden gate posts into the tiny, tumble-down village. The were a couple of houses on either side of a piece of narrow road leading to the square, where Nathaniel could detect the faint sounds of a couple of people talking, and where the spire of the church was visible above mounds of messy yellow thatch.

Nathaniel started forward, eager to once again be safely surrounded by houses, no matter how engulfed by nature they had become. He paused when he heard no footsteps behind him, and turned round. He frowned. The djinni was simply standing, staring at one of the houses, a tiny white cottage with a broken fence and a tangle of roses in the front garden. The Egyptian boy's countenance was a disquieting mixture of diluted shock and intense sadness, an expression which unnerved Nathaniel the moment he saw it.

"What's the matter with you?" He said, rather more aggressively than he had intended. "What are you looking at?"

The djinni didn't answer, but continued to gaze at the cottage. Now Nathaniel grew impatient; he stalked over to stand beside his companion, glaring at the ivy-covered house with a profound crease across his forehead. "Bartimaeus?"

"Um… I… er -" the djinni stammered, shaking his head slightly. "Nothing. I just thought I saw something, but - it's nothing. Let's go."

He strode along the path towards the village, turning back when he realised that Nathaniel wasn't following him. On the contrary, the boy was now raking the house with his eyes in search of whatever it was that had so intrigued the djinni. "What on earth were you looking at..?" he murmured. "Did you see a magician? An imp or something? Do you think Lovelace is staying in one of these cottages?"

"I said, drop it!" the djinni snapped.

Nathaniel blinked at him. He was tempted to ask more questions, to demand what had upset the djinni so, but he didn't want to risk the kind of outburst that had occurred back in the library. "Alright," he said finally. "Let's go."


	8. The Cottage

**Thank you to those who reviewed. **

Author's Note: I have attempted to answer a few questions posed in reviews in these last couple of chapters, but I would still appreciate being informed of what it is that people would like to know, or, indeed, if I have answered them successfully.

The Cottage

_11th January, 1891_

It was tedious work; my master had ordered that I search through absolutely everything in the house, checking on every plane to see that nothing had been shielded with a charm. When I first heard this I'd pictured something like a day in Hell ahead of me; magicians' houses generally were crammed to the teeth with magical junk, meaning that everything I checked on the planes would give off some kind of signal. But I certainly hadn't expected this.

That revolting child was next door with Miss Holloway in the classroom; my master had told me to call him Joseph - clearly a fake name, the boy hardly ever answered to it. He had talked the whole way here in the carriage, his pug-like face sneering out the window at the village as we turned in.

"Don't they know how vulnerable they are? Stupid Commoners…"

He hadn't stopped eating either, spraying biscuit crumbs in my face with every word and only pausing to shovel more in. I took advantage of one of these pauses to ask him why it was that a magician lived in a village like this. He'd nearly choked himself with laughter (more biscuit crumbs) while he attempted to explain that Miss Holloway was never described as a magician by anybody of high rank. The fact that she had never even learnt to summon an imp, let alone that she lived in a "broken-down hovel" of a house (his words, not mine), made her somewhat of a 'black sheep' in the world of magicians.

As soon as I saw her house, I could see why. I wouldn't go so far as to call it a "hovel", but it was certainly not the kind of house I would have expected to find a magician living in. A tiny cottage, white-washed bricks, a few vines of ivy beginning their take-over of the walls, Miss Holloway's house was everything that magicians either feared or despised. Contrary to their cosy townhouses, bare of anything that wasn't man-made or at least gilded, this house was overrun with its surroundings; even the low picket fence was gradually sinking back into the ground.

Inside wasn't much different; there were cracks on pretty much every inch of wall, each one inhabited by tiny insects with millions of legs, offering me a perfect disguise in which to sneak away and explore the house. Apparently, she didn't want "spirits" (I admit, I was quite impressed that she hadn't referred to me as a demon) in her classroom. Fair enough.

As I said, it was tedious because, rather than being stocked with magical junk that I had to wade through and decipher different signals for what they were, Miss Holloway's house had nothing at all that I could define as magical. Why was this so boring? Because it meant I was checking everything on each plane and finding absolutely _nothing_. Believe me, after you've inspected every clay jug and chipped plate in the kitchen, then every sewing kit in the tiny drawing room, you'd be longing for a good old fashioned amulet as well.

All this was rather confusing me a bit, and the more my little spider's legs skittered around the threadbare rugs and wooden floorboards of the house, the more I kept thinking about what my master had told me about this girl. She was young, had grown up in an orphanage rather than as an apprentice, and had left to live alone as soon as she was old enough to work. My guess was that she had bought this house cheap and was waiting to move into her grand old magician's palace when she'd earned a bit more cash. But she was never going to get it teaching history to snotty little sods like young Joseph, being paid barely enough to buy a loaf of bread. Why did she take it from them? I mean, good on her for not wanting to spend her life enslaving spirits and planning world domination, but why didn't she at least demand more for her work, or get another job?

Mind you, she didn't exactly seem like the type to stand up to anyone, let alone a serpent like my master. I only saw her for a brief moment - plain, frail-looking, eyes like saucers - but she hardly gave off the impression of someone who'd enter into a fight willingly. Oh well, we live and learn.

How long had we been here, now? Two hours, perhaps? I didn't have much time left. I gave up on the drawing room and headed for the stairs, creaky, wooden, with no sign of any rich carpet or gold banister. They were pretty steep, too, and from the looks of things, it would take me ages to climb them as a spider. The classroom door was shut, and as far as I could tell, there was no-one else in the house. I became a mangy alley cat, and bounded silently up the steps to the second floor of the house.

There were only two rooms upstairs, both with the doors tightly closed. One small, round window let a shaft of light into the dingy hallway where I now risked a shift into Ptolemy's form. I pushed open one of the doors, and found a cramped, cluttered room overflowing with junk. Just perfect.

From what I could discern under all the clutter of books, bottles, broken candles, various bits of tapestry and what looked like a stuffed partridge, the walls of this room were literally covered in shelves, but it was so small that the shelves on either side of the room almost joined each other, the miscellany of objects forming a jagged dome above the head of anyone who entered.

One of two things could have happened when my master searched this room before; either the magicians or spirits went through every commodity in this entire collection and found nothing, _or_ they started to search it and gave up due to sheer exhaustion. Whichever was the case, this seemed like the perfect place to hide something. I decided to start with a general approach, scanning the entire room as a whole on each of the seven planes.

Nothing.

Voices downstairs, then one right behind me. A woman's. "What are you doing here?"

I whirled round, the Egyptian boy's eyes resting on the thin, pale form of Catherine Holloway, though she did not seem quite so helpless now. There was something powerful about the anger in her eyes, the way her lower lip quivered as though she was about to cry out.

"Um…" How had she known where I was? Why did she care? And more importantly, why couldn't I think of a good lie? "What's it to you?"

She leant her head to one side, seemingly not amused by my, admittedly poor, retort. "This is my house," she said. "And I don't know why I bother to ask, seeing as I would expect nothing but lies from a creature like you."

"Now - hold on -"

"I cannot stop you from coming here," she continued; the anger in her face had now been replaced by a kind of prosaic determination. "He never was one for subtlety, or imagination for that matter… From now on you will remain in the classroom with the boy while I am teaching him, so that I can keep an eye on you." She seemed to be forcing the words out, as though they were the last things she ever wanted to say.

I, on the other hand, couldn't quite force myself to say anything. Caught in the act by a magician - one closer to a Commoner than to anything else! How had I not heard her coming up the stairs? "Look, you're not my master -"

"Oh, but I'm pretty certain that I know who is." _Stop interrupting me, woman!_ "And I can also hazard a guess as to what it is that you are looking for. I can assure you, you won't find it."

"Is that so." I was glaring at her now. She glared back.

"Yes," she stated simply. "It is."


	9. The Conjuring Room pt II

**Thank you for your reviews. **

Author's Note: I realise that this is pathetically short (I mean, more so that usual!) but it is a necessary link and cannot be embellished for plot reasons. Apologies.

The Conjuring Room 

Part II

_31st January, 1891_

The man shifted a few papers in his hands, the rustling interrupting an uneasy silence in the small, dark room. Dusty shelves and cupboards screened the walls from view, one little round window letting in a trickle of wan light that only succeeded in accenting the smudges on the glass of the cupboard doors. His rake-like form was barely visible in the darkness as he turned his head towards the girl, an insidious smile stretching his pallid countenance into an expression of utter turpitude.

"Well," he said smugly. "Now that we know where it is…"

The girl could not move, she merely glared at him from her position near the doorway. She folded her arms as though attempting to shield herself from the inevitable, her eyes never leaving his.

Blight flicked through a few sheaves of, the smugness almost overpowering his features. "You know," he said, with the air of someone about to embark on a long and self-satisfied speech. "When I began this campaign I thought it wasn't going to work. And when Bartimaeus got himself discovered, I had resigned myself to yet another failure. But I knew…" he here flashed the girl a vainglorious sneer. "… people always give in to blackmail."

He stared up at the ceiling as though lost in his own wonder. The girl before him brushed a piece of hair behind her ear and gave him a rather repulsed look. "Your egotism is astounding," she said, "even for a magician."

He laughed - a cruel, mocking sound that seemed to echo from the age-smeared fronts of the cabinets. He tapped a finger on his lips. "I'd keep quiet if I were you," he whispered. "Your words betray your disguise."

"I don't really like this, you know," the girl said, a little louder this time. "Deceiving him. Although… after what he tried to do to me -"

"Quiet!" He snapped. Something moved outside the door to the room, a sound like wheels rolling along the stone corridors. Blight's temporary distraction seemed to somewhat alter his attitude - when he looked to her again it was with haste in his eyes. "Time is short and I grow impatient. I believe you have a job to do."

The girl scowled and muttered something under her breath.

Blight ignored this. "I need the book and the djinni - it is vitally important that you secure them both."

"But, why Bartimaeus?" the girl asked. "He's not particularly powerful. Why not another?"

"I told you before!" His tone was inflamed with anger now as he waved his hands at her in impatience. "Go! Go! Before I -"

But the girl had dashed from the room the moment he had given the order, desperate to get as far from the madman as possible.


	10. The Corridor

**Thank you to all those who reviewed.** If you like this story, I would really appreciate a few words telling me so! You all must understand how motivating reviews can be…

The Corridor

_19th January, 1891_

It had been over a week since the young boy and the djinni had first arrived at the cottage, though their other visits had not been nearly as eventful as the first. Over and again Catherine had played in her mind her quiet footsteps up the stairs, seeing the shadow of the boy on the landing floor, the small figure rummaging through her collection of junk. At the time she had remained scowling and huffing to herself for hours afterwards, furious at the audacity of yet another invasion of her privacy.

So many times the man that had been the object of her hatred for so many years had tried to retrieve what he believed to be in her possession. A book. A simple book that resembled every other, and yet one which held information that terrified her beyond anything in the world.

She had set the boy an essay, and demanded that he write it in the classroom. It was largely an excuse to leave his presence for the hour, while it also provided a perfect opportunity to gain more in terms of finance. If the man would not pay her the correct amount for her lessons out of blackmail, then she would beat him at his own game - prove that the boy is refusing to learn by presenting his master with a dreadful essay, therefore forcing him to send his apprentice to more classes. More classes meant more pay, and she knew that he would not withdraw the boy from her teaching, because it was her house alone that he wanted to search. Of course, there was always the possibility that he would refuse to pay her, to which she would refuse to teach and demand that he leave. It did not matter to her, really, her freedom was all that she cared about.

Which is why it annoyed her so much that he was sending beings to search her house again. She was sitting on a stool in the corridor outside the classroom, the djinni in the form of a shining black beetle with glaring red spots, crawling all over the wall.

"Would you take another form, please," she hissed at the beetle. "You could be mistaken for any other insect in the house and disappear without my knowing it."

The djinni exhaled in a rather high-pitched manner, but leapt from the wall to the hall carpet and shifted into a cat which began pacing the narrow corridor. "And what," he asked calmly of her, "would you have done if I hadn't complied?"

She shifted on her stool. "I would have gone straight to your boss personally," she said. "I suppose you have informed him that I know who he is?"

The cat stopped mid-step, and turned to face her. "I suppose you think that makes a difference?" She blinked at him under a frown. "He told me you were sneaky enough to figure it out."

At this statement, Catherine let out a burst of disbelieving laughter that induced a grunt from the room beyond. She coughed, composing herself. "_I'm_ sneaky enough?" she whispered. "Do you know nothing of your master?"

"I know a fair amount," the djinni said. "His name for a start."

The girl sniffed. "I could have told you that, had you asked." The cat gave her a strange look and she continued, "I care nothing for the welfare of Josef Blight. In fact, having him destroyed would cease my problems."

"I'm not going to use his name to destroy him," the cat told her. "I couldn't anyway, I'd need his birth name."

Catherine let out something like a sigh, then fell silent. "That is a pity," she said finally. "Because that really would be in your best interests as well."

The cat lifted a paw to its strangely dark eyes and examined it. "Of course it would," the djinni said. "It is in every spirit's interest to get rid of their masters, it means they can just go home."

The girl nodded, biting her lip as though she was about to say something, but then deciding against it. She glanced at the door to the classroom, then leant forward and rested her chin on her hand. A hand which was now shaking. "How did you find out?" she murmured. "His name?"

The was a rustle of mangy fur as the cat gave a lazy stretch and curled his tail neatly over his paws. "Some documents left on his desk," he yawned. "All addressed to Mr. Josef Blight, of the House of St. Mar."

"Documents?" Catherine looked up in something like alarm. "What do you mean? What did they say?"

The cat had not noticed her sudden movement, and replied in the same idle fashion as his previous remarks. "Oh, nothing of real interest, otherwise I doubt he would have left them there knowing there was an inquisitive djinni on the loose. No, I expect all the really important ones were locked away in the drawers."

Something seemed to stiffen in the girl's face. "So - so you didn't open them?"

"Well, I could have blasted them open with a detonation, but that really would have been far too messy." The cat grinned at her. "Or I could have melted the key hole, but that would have taken time which I did not have." The cat sighed. "I wish I _could_ get rid of him, though. I'm getting tired…"

The girl seemed to relax slightly, and leant back against the wall behind her, her hands clasped in her lap. It was alright, he hadn't seen them. That was one less person who could strip her of her freedom. But there was something at the back of her mind that was not subdued by this piece of news, something that, despite everything she had been through, was still eating away at her every time she stared down at the creature curled up on her floor. If anything, the fact that he was, as of yet, no danger to her, made the gnawing inside of her scrape away with intensified vigour.

She closed her eyes. "Listen to me, djinni," she whispered.

"I have a name," he said, very quietly, though his indignation was somewhat quelled by the disquieting tone of her voice.

"And what is it?" she asked.

The cat flicked his tail. "Bartimaeus." No pride-riddled introductions, no fanfares, no displays of terrifying magic. He wanted to hear what she had to say.

"Bartimaeus," she continued. "You must find a way to get away from him. Blight is a greedy man, and greed can mean terrible things when the one harbouring it is a magician."

"What do you -"

"Sh," she whispered; the hour was almost up, and she could hear the rustling of paper in the next room. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to meet his gaze. "Just trust me."

The djinni let out a short, sharp laugh. "Trust you?" he said. "Why should I trust anyone? I've got him telling me you're a conniving thief, a boy in there who tells me you're about as powerful as an empty cocoon, and you threatening to get me punished! I don't trust any magician, least of all one who pretends she isn't!"

"I'm not pretending anything!" The girl snapped, now glaring at him, ire etched in every line of her face. "I want nothing to do with those foul creatures who took everything I had! Why do you think I live _here_, Bartimaeus? Out of choice? Well, I'll tell you - it may not seem like much, but I considered it a perfectly good place to hide until you came along!"

The cat had uncurled itself and was now almost cowering against the wall, back arched, eyes wide. Suddenly there was a knock on the classroom door, and the boy called, rather pompously, "I am finished."

Catherine placed her head in her hands, forcing her eyes shut to block the stream of angry tears that were welling inside of her. Staring into the blackness of her own mind, she heaved a sigh. _So am I_, she thought. _So am I._


	11. The Pentacle

Author's Note: Another short one, I'm afraid, which is why I've added two chapters at once to make up for it.

The Pentacle

_12th January, 1891_

The pain inflicted by my master's words seared through me like a bolt of jagged electricity, his anger fringing very shock with barbed edges. I let out something like a strangled scream, my essence flaring, splitting into a thousand tiny pieces at once. Somewhere in the distance, he was still bellowing at me.

"_You were discovered! _You idiot demon! Can you do _nothing!_"

The agony ceased, and I knew I had seconds to spin a plausible excuse. For the second time in two days, my djinni's mind failed me. "In all fairness," I began, somewhat raggedly. "You did say she was smart enough to -"

"_Do not dare to interrupt me!" _The smoke was clearing; I could see his face, haggard with rage, weak old eyes flaring. "I give you one simple instruction - and you _fail me!"_

I decided to say nothing, sensing that any word might trigger an explosion on his part; his skeletal frame was rattling with every breath he dragged through the crooked cage of his teeth.

Another shock of pain. The smoke cleared again. He was almost unrecognisable from his previous appearance this time, his face returned to its calm, conceited expression, as though punishing me had somehow purged him of his own distress.

He took a deep breath, then cleared his throat. "I hope," he began quietly. "That this example has shown you that I will not tolerate failure to obey orders."

I felt utterly drained, but managed to nod my head in a weak sign of cognition.

My master continued, "Good. Well, now that you cannot search the house while she is there, you will have to find a way to get her out."

"How," I wheezed, "am I supposed to do that?"

He gave a half smile, "Find something out about her that will make her liable for arrest, of course."

"Oh, of course…"

My sarcasm was not well received. His mouth tightened. "Anything. Talk to her, provoke her into revealing something about her life - her finances would be a good start. She has always had to scrape to remain in that house, doubtless she has tried other means of gaining money."

"Why can't you just drag her out?" This was sounding more and more bizarre by the minute. Magicians like this guy surely had connections with the courts - they needed them; I was certain that he could have caught her on some trumped-up charge with no problems.

"Because that is exactly what she will be expecting," he said, then went on with another stream of ridiculous reasons; it was becoming increasingly obvious that this was not about the book at all. He wanted to punish her for something, and this was purely some random act of vengeance carried out through me. This _book_ he was trying to get me to find was likely to be worthless, just a piece of junk. He'd expected me to get caught, he just hadn't thought it would happen so soon. Well, what did I care? Why shouldn't I just play along so I could get out of here, it was all I'd been doing for centuries before, and on much grander scales than this.

He finally dismissed me, but said I should stick around for a bit. I had no objections; on the contrary, I'd had my eye on that desk of his the whole way through the conversation. There was bound to be something amid all that clutter that would tell me a little more about who I was dealing with…


	12. Epilogue

**I'm sorry this has been _so_ long coming… **I've been so busy with revision, etc. that chapters are going to be few and far between, I'm afraid.

Author's Note: even though this is entitled "Epilogue" it isn't the last chapter I'm going to write, because obviously there are many missing gaps. It follows straight on from the Prologue, and provides the conclusion to the whole story. It's also a bit short - sorry about that.

Epilogue

"That's what you called me when you first met me, and it's what you still think of me now."

"Why do you _care_ so much?" The girl spat, her anger overpowering her upset. "I thought djinn had no feelings."

"We don't," the gargoyle retorted with a sneer. "It's what separates us from you - the _real_ creatures. Subjects in worship of greed and selfishness and vanity. The point is, I put an ounce of trust in you, and you squandered it - stabbed me in the back at the first opportunity!"

"And why are you so surprised?" she demanded. "The way you talk about humans, you expect them all to be the same - all grasping, gluttonous creatures of voracity. Why expect anything else from me!"

"Because I thought you were -"

"What?" the girl titled her head to one side in false apprehension. "You thought I was what, Bartimaeus?"

He finally turned around, his eyes so blazing with anger she was sure there was fire in those fathomless pupils. "Nothing." He said, and there was venom in his voice. "Nothing but another servant to your society, your reputation. You followed his orders and now you'll continue to do so - you two deserve each other."

"Shut up!" she cried, and there were now tears of fury in her eyes. "You say that as though I had a choice -"

"Of course you had a choice!" he bellowed. "You always do! Humans are just too weak to make decisions for themselves! You lied to me about your status; you hid that book - you had it for years and yet you never destroyed it even thought it could have destroyed me!"

"You don't understand," she was almost pleading now. "I had _no choice!_ I wasn't powerful enough - all I could do was hide it. Besides - you can talk! You're the one who told him where it was!"

"_What?_" His eyes flared. "Why would I do something like that! That spell nearly killed me and half my kind! You found it and brought it back to him, not me!"

The girl was shaking her head now, a look of utter disbelief on her face. "How can you say that..? How can you accuse me of..? I would never…"

The gargoyle turned his back on her, glaring out of the window. "You know what? Somehow I don't believe you."

There was a slight smirk on her face, and she was still shaking her head. "You could have stopped me," she said. "If you expected so little of me, then surely you would have tried to destroy it yourself once I'd told you where it was, how I'd hidden it. But you didn't."

There was silence, the djinni merely continuing to watch the horse pawing on the gravel rather than attempt an answer. "And I paid the price," he muttered.

"What?" the girl said, but in all honesty, she didn't expect a reply. What had happened had happened and there was nothing she could do to alter his view of it. He would never believe what she told him, whether it was the truth or not. Somehow, she couldn't even comprehend her feelings towards him - had she truly trusted him, feared him, appreciated his help, or wanted something more..?

Catherine looked up, he was still staring out of the window, his hunched shoulders shutting her out.

She walked to the door and laid her hand upon it. Stepping over the threshold she threw one brief glance behind her and murmured, "Goodbye, Bartimaeus" before slamming the door behind her.

**Please can I have a review... just one?**


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